CHAPTER XIX.

A PRAYER TO HEAVEN. The game had passed out of her hands. Should she trust to the blood-thirsty brute, or to the blood-thirsty man? I think she would have thrown herself upon such mercy as the hound would show her, rather than trust to Roland Mortlake. But the time had passed even while she stood in sore doubt. That mysterious tremor of the shutter had ceased, and now, in the ominous stillness, she saw--oh horror! what was that? A small circular hole had been cut in the panel, and through it she caught the glitter …